


Teach Me How to Cry

by PhiaLee



Category: Funhaus RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blind!James, GTA V Universe, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiaLee/pseuds/PhiaLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by my favorite monologue of the same name by Patrictia Joudry. Blind!James set in the GTA V universe because it fit. James doesn't want Bruce to leave.<br/>Oneshot. Pretty short. Could be considered a drabble.<br/>*mention/reference of suicide but that's all it is. nothing happens.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me How to Cry

**Author's Note:**

> I like to experiment with my writing sometimes. So I tried to make this "though James' eyes" and use as little action as possible. Because, well, he can't see. Please tell me if you guys are confused. Feedback in general is welcomed and thanked. *thumbs up emoji*

James sits at the table in his kitchen, listening to Bruce hum and shift sizzling and popping breakfast on the stove top. James wraps his fingers around the untouched coffee mug pressed into his palm. The heat from the ceramic mug and the nipping chill of the breeze from the open window to his right tell him to put sleeves on today. He stares forward, not knowing that the dark chair on the other side of the small round table is in his line of sight.

“It feels kind of cold today. Describe the sky,” he calls out. He's not demanding an answer, there's just no other way to say it.

“What?” Bruce glances over at James, making sure the bacon on the stove isn't burnt yet. It's on the darker side already but that's just the way he likes it. The bubbling smell of the meat lifts to Bruce's nose in a pleading way.

”Tell me how the sky looks. Describe it,” James smiles. He shifts his head in the direction of Bruce's voice, moving his empty stare to the counter top behind Bruce.

Bruce looks to the window for a second then scrapes the dark, edge-burnt bacon onto the cold plate beside him. The corners tink onto the glossed ceramic in a scattered formation. “It's cloudy. It's going to rain.” He clicks off the stove and drops the pan in the sink.

James forces a smile and keeps his stare steady, “do you like the rain?”

A question from nowhere but Bruce plays along. He shrugs, turning on the tap and clearing the grease from the metal pan, “I love it. I love it more than anything in the world.”

“I like to be out in it,” James blurts. “The rain feels strange when you can't see it. A good strange though.”

“Huh,” Bruce mutters, shutting off the tap and moving to the warm plate of bacon. “When it rains in the night, I get up and sit looking at it. I like the smell of it more than anything.”

He lazily places the plate in front of James. The chair creaks under his weight as he sits away from his friend. He wastes no time digging into the small pile between them. The bacon crumbles under his teeth and crinkles a cry from cracking in halves. James grips his mug tighter.

”I heard the boys talking about you the other day, Bruce. Will you be going away?” James sighs, “you will, won't you?”

Bruce continues to chomp and crumble at his bacon. The bits fall on the edge of the plate, making a quiet 'plink' sound. Bruce's hand sweeps effortlessly across the sleek surface of the table. Small noises hit the hardwood floor while Bruce calls for the dog. “You know when I talk about the cliff? The one right next to Pier 08?” Bruce finally says between bites, “the cliff there is _steep_. I look up at it sometimes when I'm down there,” Bruce swallows his bacon loudly, “if a person fell down that cliff, they'd be killed. Or if they were pushed-”

”Stop talking,” James barks, frustrated. His fingertips clench down around the mug as if he were trying to cave the side in. He feels the warm, sudden anger pool in his heart. “You talk and talk and I don't understand. You dance around everything I say and it pisses me off. You are leaving, aren't you? Tell me. Tell me something I care about for once, Bruce.”

The kitchen is still aside from the dog lapping at the floor. Bruce looks out the window in shame.

James gives one last squeeze on the mug and removes his hand from it, throwing his arms up in defeat. ”Go on then! Go as far away as you want! I don't know why we came to this terrible city. I hate it here. There's _no_ life here-nothing.” His forearms hit the top of the table and Bruce flinches, “you're pretty damn solid evidence of that.”

Bruce doesn't take his eyes off the window. His breathing deepens and his hands ball up.

James' voice softens, turning his head to face the chilling breeze biting at his cheeks, ”there used to be music here. Before Los Santos turned violent, at least. It was springtime, like now, only people used to come here. You could hear them in the streets and they weren't _screaming_. They were in love, and they listened to the music. A band played all the time. I can still hear the music when I'm alone. It makes me want to cry.”

Bruce turns his head to James, “but you don't cry.”

James breathes a smile, “no, I never cry.”

They sit in silence. The birds outside chirp and the cars honk and their engines roar as they speed down the busy intersection below. A police siren screeches through the calm haze of the early morning. Then they hear it. One at a time, drops start falling onto the sidewalk and rolling down lamppost's cheeks. Bruce softly moves his chair back, “I'm cold. It's getting cold.” He gets up and lightly treads out of the kitchen.

James sits alone in the kitchen, listening to the rain as it falls faster and harsher and taps on the glass. He reaches up, feeling for the inside edge of the pane and glides it down to the sill once he catches it and turns the latch. He leans his head on the pane. The cold is sharp at first but then it warms up against his hairline. He can still hear the rain tap and plink and wake up everything it touches with unique sounds. The cars below screech in caution and the birds have all stopped chirping. The police siren stops. The world is soft and quiet in this moment. It soaks through you like the rain and carries out your worries like the ocean tide retreating. James can only imagine what his city looks like right now.

His eyes droop, ”the rain-its like crying. Like the sky crying,” he whispers to no one in particular.

If only James knew he held the sky in his eyes. The clearest blue decorating a ring around his pupils like no one would believe. Tears cloud his sky and, one at a time, it begins to rain.

 


End file.
